


Airside Story

by Ponddipper



Series: A Moment of Madness [2]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, I fixed Series 3 Episode 1, Song Lyrics, Valentines day 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponddipper/pseuds/Ponddipper
Summary: Another one on the theme of a Moment of Madness......





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this little piece was inspired by quite a famous song. It just seemed to fit our beloved DS and DI and I couldn't get the idea out of my head.
> 
> As it is nearly valentines day I just I had to post this, though it's been in the pipeline for a while. I want to dedicate it to all those who write original fan fiction, both here and elsewhere. If it is DIP I've probably read it!  
> Happy reading and kudos to anyone who can guess the song!  
> PDx

** Airside Story. **

****

_It’s funny,_ thought Camille, _how sometimes life imitates art._ She watched the scene before her unfold just like it did in the movie _.  He even has a touch of Kevin Costner about him too,_ she mused.

 

      Camille was stood on the tarmac at Honoré airport, next to the Police Land Rover which was about a hundred yards away from a small fixed wing airplane.  Richard was stood next to the open door of the aircraft, left arm in a sling, his usual suit jacket draped protectively over that side of him.  Commissioner Patterson was having a few final words with him before the Detective Inspector would clamber awkwardly into the plane and disappear from their lives.  Forever. 

 

      Richard still looked a bit pale and, Camille thought, remarkably sombre about his departure.  Not like before when he had to escort that Prisoner to London.  Back then he had been almost bubbling over with excitement – a truly rare occurrence for the shy, reserved Englishman. 

 

      Tears pushed at her eyelids as Camille clamped them shut, willing herself back under control with deep breaths.  The past few weeks had been traumatic for everyone in the small team here, and just when they were beginning to find their feet again……A fax arrived from London, recalling Richard to head up a newly formed team of Detectives working to counter identity fraud.  They’d been given just 48 hours notice of his departure.

 

      Now she thought about it, he hadn’t seemed all that keen to go.  Certainly not as ecstatic about leaving the island as one might have thought given how much he complained about life here.  He’d only been back at work a week since being stabbed, with an ice pick of all things, by a so-called friend at the reunion of his University co-horts.  Hence his supported arm. 

     

      Camille shuddered as her mind involuntarily recalled the scene of Richard lying unconscious in a deckchair, blood seeping steadily across his usually immaculate shirt.  She had acted on autopilot, shutting down her emotions as she ran to him, relief almost knocking her out as she felt the weak pulse in his neck.  She had thrust her hand into his trouser pocket and grabbed his ever present handkerchief, clamping it over the wound while the boys worked around her.  She had stayed by Richards side the whole time – even demanding to stand by in the theatre as they operated!  She had used every trick in her book to be as forceful as possible and it had worked.  Each beep of the monitor an audible comfort that he was still alive, still here.  And now he was going away.  Leaving her forever.

 

      She had gone to his little beach house / shack the night before last, and he had had to ask her to help him pack.  The request tore at her heart, as if she were complicit in his leaving, but he needed her.  He manged to heave his case onto the bed and she began to fold his spare shirts for him.

            ‘Would you have stayed?’ She had asked, annoyed at how small and emotional her voice was.  ‘If this job hadn’t come up, would you have stayed here, Richard?’ 

She had to know.  Her heart felt as if it was breaking apart.

          ‘I don’t know.  Maybe.’ 

He sighed heavily, then squared his shoulders as he picked up a dress shirt and slid it off the hanger, passing it to her. 

          ‘But at least now I won’t be in your way.  I heard the Commissioner is pushing for you to be the new DI.  Well done.’  His eyes would not meet hers.

      It was a hollow victory.  She would get the promotion she had dreamed of, but at what cost?

 

      Camille opened her eyes again, but turned to look out over the ocean.  They had said their goodbyes last night at La Kaz.  Unable to get him drunk because of the medications he was still on, Camille had been surprised and delighted that he had agreed to dance with her.  It wasn’t a waltz or a tango, but they shuffled and swayed in time to the music together and she had tried desperately to hide how lost she was feeling, at how much each sweet moment was hurting.  A tear escaped the control of her eyelid and he had told her not to cry.

            ‘Please.  Don’t cry.  Save your tears for someone who matters.’

            ‘You matter!’  Had been her swift and emphatic reply, but he just shook his head and looked away.

            ‘We both know I’m not what you need.’

      It had been almost a whisper, his eyes not daring to look her way.  When Juliet had brought little Rosie to the bar earlier that evening to say farewell, Camille thought she had seen the pain and perhaps even longing in his eyes, though she couldn’t be sure.  He had thought she was looking elsewhere but for a brief moment she had caught the expression in his gaze and knew her own face, her own feelings were reflected back at her.  But neither of them had been sure enough to make the move the other craved, and now there was no more time.

     

      She had tried to find a memento, something for him to remember the island with.  But nothing seemed right.  Maman had taken a team photo last night, on Richard's phone.

          ‘A memory to take with you.’ She had said, almost in tears herself. 

     Maman had squeezed his good shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen in a rush.  Camille told him her mother had just been chopping onions to save him embarrassment, but he seemed more subdued than embarrassed.

 

     What sort of memories would he be taking with him?, she wondered.  Camille’s own memories were bittersweet.  She recalled the many times he infuriated, frustrated and annoyed her with his pedantry, his refusal to relax, his English ways, and his stubbornness, but then he would do something so tender, so special – like lighting the candle at the holy spring, babysitting little Rosie, or protecting the Rainforest and she knew there was a warm human being under that protective shell.  It was at times like that, she realised, that he was special.  He was unlike any other man she had ever met.  And now he was leaving her world forever.

 

     His guard had been down a bit last night, not inebriated but relaxed enough with them now to let them get a bit closer to the real Richard.  He even stood up to give a speech.

            ‘I hope life treats you kind, and you have all you ever dreamed of.’ He said raising his glass.  ‘I wish you joy, and happiness.’ 

      His toast ended in a barely audible whisper and a hard swallow, but his gaze had been fixed upon her, as if he were speaking to her alone, not the assembled crowd.  Later he said that this was nothing like Croydon.  _They’d_ had the party _after_ he left. 

 

      Camille sighed heavily.  They’d been growing closer for a year.  The Erzulie festival and the way he looked at her before her blind date, when she had for a brief, glorious moment thought he was to be her date.  The way she had sometimes flirted with him, and the stumbling way he had occasionally flirted back!  She had given him all the clues.  Made it clear how she felt and yet, he had never once responded, or indicated how he felt. 

      A sudden desperate thought hit her.  One that made her insides turn icy even though the air temperature was in the mid 70’s.  _Maybe he didn’t understand!_ Maybe she _had_ told him, but in a language he didn’t speak.  It fit.  He’d always been nervous around women, and _very_ reluctant with physical contact.  Perhaps he didn’t know _how_ to respond.  Doug Anderson’s words suddenly boomed loud in her ears:

            ‘Never been married….never even had a girlfriend.’

      What if he _did_ feel something, but couldn’t figure out how to tell her?  Or she didn’t understand _his_ signals to _her_?  The breath in her lungs left in a rush.

      The way he had slowly opened up to her during the Anderson murder, and again during Hurricane Irma when they spent the night at the University, and after the Powell case, and…and ….a thousand moments flooded her brain all at once.  What if _that_ was his way of testing the waters? And she had missed it, let it pass without enough thought and now it was too late!  Or was it?

      Camille felt lightheaded and had to lean on the Land Rover for a moment until the world stopped spinning.  Was this the way Richard felt when he suddenly saw the answer in one of their cases?, she wondered.

      Should she go and tell him how much he means in big, clear and simple words?  At least then she would know for sure.  But what if she were wrong and she _had_ just imagined their closeness? It would be humiliating!  Or what if he turned her down?  She wouldn’t be able to bear the shame! He was getting what he always _said_ he wanted – to go home to England, to rain, warm beer, grey skies and cold winds.  So why had he seemed so unsure about it? 

       A small voice in her head reminded Camille that if she told him how she felt, at least she would know she had done what she could, and then she could slowly heal the chasm that his imminent departure had wrought in her heart and her soul.

 

       The sound of the Pilot rumbling the engine into life wrenched Camille back to the present.  The Commissioner was shaking Richard’s hand.  She had but a few moments to make a choice that would change her life and very probably many others too.  Should she be selfish and go, or selfless and stay?

       Her heart screamed go, her head yelled stay.  Surely it was too late to do anything now.  The orders were signed.  It _would_ be fun to be a DI, in charge of the station at Honoré, but without him, without _Richard_ , it would be an empty meaningless space.  The week he had spent in London had been hell for her.  No contact from him, no grumbles about the heat, the milk in his tea.  No huffs as he read a report or e-mail he didn’t like the contents of.  She had thought she’d go mad after two days.  But she had hope he would return.  Now he was leaving.  Forever.

 

        A line from an old song played on a loop in her head, screaming at her to do the only possible thing she could do.  As the Commissioner shook Richards hand one last time, gripping his elbow affectionately the way he did, Camille’s feet began to move, taking her body along with them.  In five steps she was running, hurtling towards her two superior officers at a speed that would make Usain Bolt sweat.

        Richard looked up in surprise as Camille crashed into him, pushing him back against the fuselage in the blink of an eye.  Her mouth found his in a long, deeply passionate kiss, swallowing his cry of pain as he hit the metal behind him.  Seconds ticked by as she pummelled his lips with her own, letting her actions speak the words her brain had not yet conjured up.  She felt his good arm come up and try to push her away, so she held on tighter to him, refusing to let go, lungs burning from lack of oxygen.  Eventually he managed to detach himself from his DS and pushed her back a step.

            ‘Camille.  Please,’ His voice was tense, eyes almost pleading for her to stop her madness.

            ‘Stay!  Please stay Richard.’  She didn’t care if she begged, pleaded, threw herself at him and hung on.  As long as he would stay.  Here.  With her.

            ‘Camille,’ He sighed, running his hand through his thinning hair, making it stand on end.  ‘We’ve been through this.  It won’t..’

            ‘But I love you!  I will always love you!’  The words tumbled out in a breathless rush from her heart straight to her lips.

        She saw Richard freeze.  Literally stop completely, no breaths, no eye movements, not a flicker.  It was as if someone somewhere hit a pause button. Her eyes were locked with his, refusing to let go as her own lungs ceased functioning.  She needed to see his reaction, how he truly felt.  She would fight for him, for _them_ , if he wanted her to, but if he didn’t want her she would have to let him go. 

 

        Then Richard swallowed.  Hard.

            ‘What did you say?’  He could only whisper.

Camille didn’t hesitate.      

            ‘I said I love you!  I love you! I love you! I love you!  Richard Poole I will _always_ love you!’

        Then the dam broke and tears cascaded in rivers down her face and sobs heaved in her chest.  Slowly, almost hesitantly, Richard's free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb reaching out to try and brush away the tears.  She could see the conflict in his eyes – he had a duty, a job to do, which was back in London, but another part of him _wanted_ to stay.  It gave her hope, but she had done everything she could.  It was his decision now.

        Her heart thumped loudly in her ears and her chest, drowning out everything that wasn’t him, as she waited for Richard to make his choice.  It was agony just standing there, helpless and emotionally exposed, but what choice did she have?  At least this way she could find peace.  However long it took.

        As the moments ticked by Camille began to doubt her decision.  Had she said things properly or mis-read the signs?  Was he trying to decide to stay, or trying to delicately phrase his rejection of her feelings for him? 

        Then his mouth was on hers, his arm around her waist.  He was kissing her.  Richard Poole, shy reserved Suit wearing English gentleman was K.I.S.S.I.N.G her!  A grin winder than La Manche split across her face and she stood on tip toe, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in to her.  His lips were soft and gentle yet demanding.  Just like him.

 

        A cough behind them broke the couple apart though their gaze remained glued together.

            ‘Do I assume, Inspector that you have..ahem..changed your mind perhaps?  About leaving Saint-Marie?’  Commissioner Patterson asked in his broad Caribbean drawl, just a hint of amusement evident in the tone.

            ‘Yes, Sir.’  Said Richard still gazing deep into Camille’s eyes.  ‘I believe it would be remiss of me to leave the island while I am still not back to full fitness.’  He raised his injured arm a little to illustrate his point.

            ‘But your post in London?  It will be filled by another if you don’t leave today.’

Richard dragged his eyes away from his study of the crazy half-French beauty before him and looked Patterson defiantly in the eye.

             ‘C’est la vie, Commissioner. C’est.  La.  Vie.’

        Unable to scoop Camille up and carry her away, Richard had to settle for an arm around her waist and hugging her into his side as they walked away from a stunned Commissioner, towards the Land Rover without a backward glance.

 

        Patterson dug in his jacket pocket and retrieved his phone.  He searched for a number before hitting dial.  As he turned to walk back to the one and only Police car on the island of Saint-Marie it roared into life and sped away, abandoning him airside.  Part of him was annoyed at the effrontery of being standed at the airport, but the larger part was relieved.  He had the best Inspector and Sergeant combination in the Caribbean.  No, in the world and he had feared what losing Poole would do to the team and their amazing closure rates but now he was hopeful that the Englishman was here to stay.  Always.

 

            ‘Ello?’ came a distinctly French voice on the other end of the phone.

            ‘Bonjour Cat’rine. It is Selwyn.  I bear good news……’

 


End file.
